


Bow down and bleed for me.

by SketchLockwood



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:08:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21628411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/pseuds/SketchLockwood
Kudos: 1





	Bow down and bleed for me.

1470

Lincolnshire

He inspected his fingers. His eyes as numb as his emotions. 

The man before him sat in a chair, panting. His eyes alight with anger.

“There’s no need to look at me so.” 

“Fuck you.”

“Now that’s plain rude.” John Tiptoft smirked. 

“I repeat, fuck you.” The man spat blood onto the floor. John knew where the blood stemmed from. Three teeth had been removed before John had entered the room. 

His tormentor, stood behind him, slapped his head. 

“Now now Paul. There’s no need to be such a brute. I’m sure I can make a friend of this man.”

“Burn in hell, Judas.” 

“No? Let me correct myself. I’ll make you come around to my way of thinking. That is, you’ll speak. Paul here? He has never had a living man fail to give him answers. And tell me Paul, how many men had died on your watch?”

“None my lord.”

“Yes, that’s right, he’s no executioner.” 

“You speak tough, for a scholar.”

“Needs must, now I am growing impatient. More to the point, the King;”

“Usurper.” The man interrupted. 

“grows tired of the unrest on his kingdom.” Tiptoft kept talking, not listening to the word the traitor uttered. 

“You’re a whoreson.”

“My mother was no whore, sir.” He laughed, sitting back in his chair. “Paul, I think the next tooth is needed for that.”

To his credit, the traitor hardly screamed as the tooth was extracted. 

John bit a nail, flicking his fingers as he grinned. “Fingers are beautiful things, useful.” He leaned forward, uncrossing his legs. “You’ll Tell me where they are, or you’ll never grip a sword again.” 

“I’ll tell you, and him, nothing.”

John frowned waving a hand to Paul. The traitor screamed as the knife landed just below the knuckles. 

“Hurts, does it?”

“Fuck you.” The traitor spat in his direction. 

“You know, I really hate this. Paul.” 

The knife fell on the other hand.

“I repeat, where are they?”

“Just outside Lincoln.” The man whimpered. 

“Wasn’t so hard was it? You didn’t have to bleed on my account. You could have just told me. We could have come to a nice little deal. Now, tell me their plans.”

“The son will attack the army whilst the father kills the usurper.Henry will the King again and scum like you will die.” 

John laughed, standing up, he discreetly slipped the knife out of its scabbard. Approaching, he stroked the traitors cheek. “To use your words? Fuck you and burn in hell.” Blood ran freely from the man as he drew the blade across his throat. 

He said not another word as he left the room. 


End file.
